


Harry Potter and the Servant of Two Masters

by HC_Weatherfield



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Double Agent Draco, M/M, Romantic Comedy, classic theatre references, possibly one of the dumbest AUs you will ever meet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HC_Weatherfield/pseuds/HC_Weatherfield
Summary: Draco Malfoy has a large fondness for life’s little pleasures.  And if serving one side can’t satisfy that...maybe serving both sides will.Based on classic Commedia dell'Arte tropes, with Draco as Harlequin/Arlecchino.





	1. Resplendent with Serpentine Splendor

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the weirdest plot bunny I've ever encountered, and, hopefully, a rip-roaring comedic time!
> 
> This fic is very loosely based on the Italian comic play 'The Servant of Two Masters,' which inspired the popular contemporary play 'One Man, Two Guv'nors.' The original was in turn inspired by the Renaissance Italian improvisational theatre form Commedia dell'Arte (in turn inspired by ancient Roman comedy), which was basically about learning tropes and endlessly recombining them to produce entertaining tomfoolery. Thus, it seemed a sensible choice to combine with fanfic tropes.
> 
> A disclaimer: people are going to be OOC and behave objectionably. Particularly, you'll notice that Voldemort, Dumbledore, and every other older man in the story is inexplicably pervy. The idea that every older man is after one thing (the one thing young people won't give him) drives every single Commedia plot, and thus I couldn't very well write this without that trope. In reality, I have a deep and abiding love for Dumbledore, flawed as he is.
> 
> I hope you have fun. Remember to expect things to get weirder as they go on! And comment with any tropes you'd like to see me work into the future plot, as my work on this is itself rather improvisational.

“They what?”

“They’ve frozen our accounts, Draco, do keep up.”

Draco looked from his father back to his mother, whose lips were pursed.

“Mama, tell me he’s exaggerating.”

“How, exactly, could I exaggerate this, Draco? The accounts are either frozen or they’re not!”

“But, Papa! I have needs!”

Lucius curled his lip. “Yes, Draco. Your mother and I, and the entirety of Wizarding Britain, are well aware of your _needs_. How, at only sixteen, you have managed to create such a thoroughly debauched reputation”—

“Pure force of charisma,” Draco said cheerfully. “All learned from you, I’m sure.”

“I certainly hope not.”

“Perhaps not,” Draco agreed, looking at his father with a challenge in his eyes.

After a long moment, Narcissa cleared her throat. “If you’re both quite finished.” Both men looked at the floor sheepishly. “There is the small matter of how to go on from here.”

“I’m not going to _work_ , if that’s what you’re implying,” said Draco.

“Of course not,” said Narcissa placidly.

“You will both do whatever is required,” Lucius snapped, “and the Dark Lord will provide.”

Both Draco and Narcissa snorted at that. Narcissa raised her eyebrows and looked as if about to speak, but Draco shook his head minutely.

“Look, Papa,” he said gently, “I know we can’t exactly go crying to Dumbledore over this, or--well, anyway. It was probably his idea to seize our assets in the first place. But if you trust me for just a little while, I can see this through so that we come out on top without getting dragged down by the pesky life-or-death conflict of it all. Family first, right? You trust me?”

“I do not trust you,” said Lucius.

“Your wisdom is infinite, Papa.”

“However,” Lucius continued, “trustworthiness has never been a trait particularly valued in this family. I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe you competent, as long as we enact a failsafe for your plan.”

Draco grinned. “Oh, certainly, Papa. Two failsafes, as a matter of fact.”

***

“My Lord,” Draco said, greeting Voldemort with an exaggerated courtly bow.

“You may approach,” said Voldemort.

“Thank you, My Lord. And may I say you look resplendent with serpentine, er, splendor, today.”

There was a snort from the shadows beside Voldemort’s throne.

“Wormtail,” said Voldemort coldly, “do you disagree with the young man?”

“No, oh, no, My Lord, I had just—I had merely—wondered about his _phrasing_ , My Lord.”

“In the future,” Voldemort said, “you will restrain your rudeness.”

“Yes, My Lord,” said Pettigrew, quickly retreating back into the shadows.

Draco examined his manicured nails. “No living with the middle classes, is there, My Lord?”

“They have their uses.”

“Of course, yes,” said Draco lazily. “You would, of course, know better about people’s uses than I. You being a Lord and all, or rather, _the_ Lord, I should say.”

“It is my vocation,” Voldemort agreed solemnly.

“Vocation,” said Draco, “Exactly. That’s what I’m here about, My Lord.”

“My vocation?”

“No, My Lord, _my_ vocation.”

“Your vocation, young Draco? Are you not still in school?”

Draco laughed. “Rather, My Lord. But I mean vocation not in the sense of career, but of _calling_. A life purpose, as it were. One does not take a vacation from one’s vocation. And _my_ vocation is survival, but in a certain, dare I say glamorous, idiom. To grasp with panache. To claw with aplomb. It is rather a specialty of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy. An intergenerational calling, if you will.”

Voldemort gestured with his hand, as if to say, “all right, I will.” Draco went on.

“We Malfoys seek our own highest good, My Lord, and serving you is, as we see it, the highest good of all.” Draco just barely kept a straight face, seeing how pleased Voldemort looked. Merlin, this was too easy. “The Malfoy family has, I am sorry to say, recently run into a little snag that may affect the cause as well.” This with a sombre tone and sad face.

“Has it?” said Voldemort with interest.

“Yes, My Lord. Our accounts at Gringotts have been frozen.”

Voldemort hissed. He knew where his best interests lay. “This is most unfortunate.”

“Yes, indeed, My Lord,” Draco agreed, trying not to sound too eager. “It was in contemplating possible bridges over these troubled waters that I came across a plan that would, I believe, be of further use to you than simply restoring the Malfoy ability to... _donate._..to the noble cause.”

“You have my attention,” said Voldemort.

 _I know I do_ , Draco thought gleefully. What he said was, “Thank you, My Lord. Your time and patience are much appreciated. Luckily, the plan is simple enough, so I will be brief.”

There was another snort from behind Voldemort’s chair.

“Something to share, Wormtail?” Voldemort asked.

“No, My Lord,” said Pettigrew hurriedly. “I merely worry that the boy is being irresponsible with your valuable time, My Lord.”

“I will be the judge of that,” said Voldemort.

“Yes, My Lord.” Pettigrew retreated, and Voldemort waved his hand for Draco to go on.

“Thank you, My Lord,” said Draco. “As for the plan—simply put, I would like to offer myself as a spy. I would go to Dumbledore, proclaim to him that I want to go over to the goody-two-shoes side of things, express remorse or, well, whatever it is Gryffindor types experience when they’re overcome with their emotions.” Pettigrew gave an offended squeak, and Voldemort an appreciative laugh. Draco went on. “So I tell him I want in on his little game in exchange for the safety and security of myself and my family. We’re known to be self-serving cowards, so he’ll believe this easily enough, if my hunch is correct. Thus, our funds are restored. If I’m right in thinking he is unaware that you reside here, My Lord, then that will be that. Of course, if he is aware, then my parents will unfortunately have to be removed to Salazar knows what dreadful safe house until our vaults can be wrested out from Dumbledore’s influence. As far as I can see it, that would be the only real disadvantage of the plan.”

“Perhaps it would be an allowable inconvenience,” Voldemort mused, “if we could be certain that Dumbledore would not discover the ruse.”

“I’ve pondered that,” said Draco, “and I found a solution in what I must admit was one of my secondary motives for proposing this plan.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yes, you see,” said Draco smoothly, “I can use this apparent change of heart to my advantage and worm my way into the inner circle of Gryffindors at school. Within a month, I plan to be fucking Dumbledore’s golden boy. This will establish Dumbledore’s trust, while that trust itself will be my in with Potter. You get a crafty intelligencer established amongst people close to Dumbledore, plus renewed funding, and I get the finest arse in—well, in all of Scotland, at least, I think that’s fair to say.”

“Your plan,” said Voldemort thoughtfully, “seems to rely rather heavily on your charms and Potter’s predilections.”

“You doubt my charms, My Lord?” Draco asked neutrally. Voldemort looked him up and down, which, Draco thought, felt very much like the time he had been wanking in the Slytherin dorms only to look out the window and find the Giant Squid watching.

“No,” Voldemort admitted, “But what about Potter?”

There was a snort from behind the chair yet again, and this time Pettigrew emerged of his own accord.

“Potter’s definitely queer.”

“How would you know?” Draco asked, looking at Pettigrew with distantly disgusted interest.

“I slept in his dormitory for three years,” said Pettigrew.

“You _what_?” said Draco.

“When I was disguised.”

Draco looked to Voldemort for an explanation.

“He was in hiding in his animagus form,” the Dark Lord explained.

“I was the Weasley boy’s pet rat,” said Pettigrew, sounding almost proud.

“How horrible,” said Draco.

Pettigrew ignored this. “Anyway, I saw Potter looking at the other boys, especially Weasley. In the unlikely event that he has interest in women, it is not an exclusive interest.”

“That is good news,” said Voldemort.

“Yes, yes,” said Draco, still looking at Pettigrew with loathing. “I don’t suppose, My Lord, that we could have Weasley killed?”

Voldemort chuckled indulgently. “Patience, Draco,” he said. “Perhaps, in time, as a reward for a well-executed mission.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” said Draco, pleased with the notion.

***

“Hermione,” said Harry, “D’you think I’ll ever fall in love?”

“What?” replied Hermione with frank astonishment, looking up from her book.

“I just...I dunno, it’s stupid.”

“What’s on your mind?” Hermione prompted, accepting that she was now on an official break from her homework.

“Well, I mean, I just don’t know when I’d have the chance. What with Voldemort and the war and all. Plus I seem to run into a dragon or a troll or something every second Tuesday. I’ve a lot on my plate. Sure I’ve had crushes, but...love? All-consuming, distracting, intoxicating, wanting-to-snog-in-corridors stuff? I’m starting to think it’s not real, or if it is, that it’ll never be for me.”

Hermione blushed. “It’s real.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

“What brought this on?” Hermione asked him.

“I dunno,” Harry sighed. “I just...I don’t know if I’ll live through the end of the year, I’m never sure, and I’ve been thinking about what I’ve done, and what I still want to do.”

“Oh Harry.”

“I’m starting to think I’ll never get my chance to just be normal, y’know? Read about someone else’s life in the newspaper...plan out names for my future children...have somebody I like buy me jewelry...that sort of thing.”

“Jewelry?” Hermione inquired.

“Men can wear jewelry,” said Harry defensively.

“I know that,” she responded, rolling her eyes. “You just don’t strike me as the type to want to. You’re not flashy, and you usually hate being given things.”

“Well,” said Harry thoughtfully, “You never know. My mind could change. Maybe if I met the right person, I’d want them to buy me jewelry.”

“Maybe,” agreed Hermione, exasperated.

“I’d like to have sex, too,” Harry added as an afterthought. “That's something I haven't done.  I'd like to try it.  Preferably as many times as possible, before old Snakeface gets me.”

***

“And that is why you have come to me?” Dumbledore asked. Draco was wracked with another fit of sobs. “Now, now, dear boy, now, now, none of that. You will be all right. You have made the right choice.”

Draco looked up with watery eyes. “And my p-p-”

“Your parents will be protected,” the professor assured him.

Draco leapt out of his seat, springing up and sliding on his belly across the Headmaster’s desk to wrap the old man in his arms.

“ _TH-THANK YOU_ ,” he sobbed into the old man's shoulder.

“No need for that,” said Dumbledore, patting the boy’s back awkwardly and firmly reminding himself that, while there is no appropriate time to notice a student’s attractiveness, it is especially inappropriate to do so when that student is sobbing into one’s arms.

“Oh, but there is, Professor,” Draco enthused. “You’re my savior! How can I ever thank you?”

“Well,” said Dumbledore. “I do have one idea.” The Headmaster was, in fact, proud of himself for thinking of it. It was an excellent rationalization for why he was unable to tear his eyes off the Malfoy boy.

“Name it,” said Draco earnestly.

“Young Harry has a lot on his shoulders,” said Dumbledore. “He needs all the friends he can get. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Draco looked down and bit back a grin. “Of course, Headmaster.”

***

“It’s a good plan, Draco,” said Lucius after his son wrapped up the explanation of his scheme. “I have only one follow-up question.”

“Yes, Father?” Draco shifted in an attempt to get comfortable. He was on his knees in Professor Snape’s office, his head in the fireplace so he could speak with his father.

Not that there weren’t plenty of other circumstances in which he wouldn’t mind being on his knees in Severus’ office. But those were thoughts for another day. A rainy Sunday, perhaps.

“I wonder,” said Lucius, bringing Draco’s attention back to the matter at hand. “You mentioned a failsafe for the plan. Two failsafes, as a matter of fact. What are they?”

“Oh!” Draco grinned. “Well, that’s the particularly clever bit. The failsafe, should the Dark Lord turn on us, is that we really can run into the arms of the Order of the Phoenix and no one will be the wiser as to our duplicity. And in the reverse, should the old bat grow suspicious, we can high-tail it back to Voldy’s side. So either way, there’s a failsafe. Two failsafes, yes?”

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Get out of my sight,” he said.


	2. The Agile Feet of an Amorous Antihero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoys always make the first move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, gentle readers! I've had some major life events since I posted the first chapter of this fic, but Malfoy Harlequin has never been far from my mind. As I settle in, new chapters should be more forthcoming. In the meantime, enjoy some devious plotting!

“It is true that we snakes are cunning, that we thrive on silence and subtlety and sneakery and all that sibilant stuff, but, you see, it is not another snake I am attempting to woo.”

“I don’t follow, Draco,” said Blaise. “Wouldn’t their outsider status make them all the easier to, er, persuade?”

“In some situations,” Draco conceded, “but not when the outsider in question is in fact a Gryffindor.”

“You’ve lost me again.”

“Watch and learn,” said Draco, because he and Blaise had just reached the entrance of the Great Hall, and his plan was about to go into action.

***

“Oi!” said Ron.

“Absolutely not!” said Hermione.

“I can’t believe this,” said Seamus.

“Believe it,” said Draco, wiggling into the space he’d commandeered on the Gryffindor bench between Seamus and Dean.

“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at”--Ron began.

“Now, now, Weasley, play nice,” said Draco. “I’m only here to make friends. I’m afraid I haven’t given you lot a fair shake in the past.”

“I thought that was because we were all a bunch of mudbloods and blood traitors?” Hermione asked with no small edge of hostility.

“Watch your words, Granger,” said Draco. “You could offend someone.”

“Harry, mate?” squeaked a very red-faced Ron, “You gonna take this?”

Harry did not look up from his plate; he had been staring very fixedly at his leftover sausages for the entirety of the conversation, as Draco’s feet found his under the table and insinuated themselves around his ankles and up his calves.

“Don’ wanna start a fight,” Harry muttered to the cutlery.

“That’s all right,” Seamus replied. “We’ll do it for you, mate.”

“In front of all the _teachers_?” Hermione exclaimed, reaching out to stop him drawing his wand, “Are you crazy?”

“What should we do, then, Hermione?” asked Ron.

“Ignore him,” she said firmly.

And they did, tensely returning to their breakfasts without saying a word.

Meanwhile, Draco was using his surprising flexibility (the Dark Lord was very into yoga, and made all his Death Eaters participate in daily sessions) to move one socked foot up Harry’s thigh, inching ever closer to where he most wanted to be. After a few tense moments of silence at the table, Harry let out a very small squeaking noise, and Draco withdrew his foot and slipped his shoe back on, his work done.

“Well,” he said, “this has been fun. See you at lunch.” And he gathered his things and left.

***

“That was humiliating to watch,” said Blaise as they sat down in Charms class.

“Imagine being one of _them!_ ” Draco responded gleefully.

“So who is it? Obviously it’s not Weasley, and not even you would be daft enough to try and split up Thomas and Finnegan.”

“Oh, nothing of the sort,” said Draco blithely. “You know I always reach for the stars.”

“ _Potter?_ ”

“I think you mean the future Mr. Malfoy. Er, I mean, that is to say, the future _other_ Mr. Malfoy. Second Malfoy of Messrs Malfoy. You know.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Care to make a wager? I can have Potter in two weeks if you’re going to keep giving me skeptical looks like that.”

“Not on your life,” said Blaise. “I’ll keep my money, thanks.”

***

“So, just to clarify, you _don’t_ think this is a Death Eater plot?”

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore sighed, “For the fifth time, I do not believe Mr. Malfoy is in league with Tom Riddle any longer.”

“What, just because he came to you and said so? He could be lying. Slytherins are good at that!”

“Oh, Harry,” said Dumbledore, sounding disappointed. “Is that truly _all_ you think Slytherins are good for?”

Harry turned very, very red.

“No,” he splutterd, “I just--I don’t trust him!”

“Yes, I believe we have established that. However, I believe it would be wisest, at this time, to allow events to unfold. Perhaps attempt to get to know Mr. Malfoy. Challenge yourself to find the good in him.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry squeaked.

“Now, on to the matter at hand.” Dumbledore pulled out a box of pensieve memories and began to lecture Harry about the life of a young Tom Riddle. And Harry certainly didn’t spare any further thought that evening for Draco Malfoy and his surprisingly agile feet. No, not a thought.

***

Harry was minding his business, walking down the hall, when suddenly he was pulled into an alcove by an inexplicable magnetic force. He crashed right into Draco Malfoy.

“Malfoy!" He growled, “What are you doing?”

“I simply wanted to chat,” he said, “so I Summoned you.”

“You can’t Summon a person,” Harry said.

“Apparently I can. Like this. _Accio Harry Potter_.” When Draco spoke the spell, Harry found himself slamming into the other boy all over again, chest to chest.

“All right,” said Harry, “you Summoned me. Now say what you wanted to say.”

“Actually, I lied,” said Draco. “I didn’t want to chat.”

And he kissed Harry, intensely, spinning him around almost balletically so he was crushed against the wall. Harry definitely hated every moment of it, and if there were choruses of angels singing in his ears and fireworks behind his eyes and stars and birds twittering around his head, that was just the effect of being slammed against a wall unexpectedly, now, wasn’t it?

Then, suddenly, Draco broke away and immediately retreated.

“Good talk, Potter,” he said, and walked away.

***

“What you _have to_ understand is that I hate Malfoy.”

“Hello to you too,” said Hermione, looking up from her book as Harry sat down in the armchair next to hers.

“I _really_ hate him.”

“I know.”

“He’s just the most obnoxious, arrogant, hateful git I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“You’ve said.”

“Do you _understand_ what I’m _saying_ , Hermione?” Harry asked desperately. “I really _hate_ Malfoy.”

“I understand,” said Hermione dryly.

“You’re not _listening_ to me,” Harry objected.

“About what, mate?” asked Ron, coming to sit with his friends.

“Malfoy,” said Harry. “I really hate him.”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron. “Me too, mate.”

Hermione coughed to hide a snigger.


End file.
